She shook her head no, so pushing her back into the mattress, I confessed, “I like the way you are with me. I like me when I’m with you. I feel like I could tell you anything, that I could bear my f**kin’ black soul. You make me feel… well… you know… You get me?” I was such a douche and evidently no good at all the romantic shit.

But a finger stroked down my cheek, and smiling so damn big, Molly said, “I get you, Romeo.”

We stayed that way for a while, just talking. She apologized for our showdown at the lecture, admitting that she was pissed at me after believing I’d slept with Shelly. I told her the truth, that I was done with everyone but her, and she seemed more than happy with that fact.

After a time, music began blaring from the backyard and it was clear that the party was only getting bigger. I didn’t complain, though, because Molly asked me to stay—only to sleep! she’d stated—and I couldn’t have felt happier.

Molly moved into bed, nervously biting her thumb and watching every move I made. When I got in bed beside her and that tight ass of hers began grinding into my cock, it took all my might to edge forward and whisper, “We need to try and sleep or things will get out of control. I only have so much restraint.”

“O-okay,” she whispered back, and I wrapped my arm around her waist as she tucked herself farther against me.

It felt so damn right.

“Night, Shakespeare,” I said quietly.

“Night, Romeo,” she replied, and I couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief.

She stiffened at my amusement, so I quickly explained. “I actually like the sound of my name on your lips. Something I never thought would happen. I think it’s the English accent. It sounds all proper, like the way Shakespeare intended. No one calls me Romeo, has ever called me Romeo. I don’t allow it. But weirdly, I like it when you do.”

I heard her exhale and felt her trying to turn and face me. For some reason I couldn’t let her, too overcome with emotion to have her meet my eyes, to see the demons I fought in my gaze. But when she whispered, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet; so Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d.” I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The memories, the pain that name stirred in me was too much.

“Don’t… please…” I begged, unable to tell her why that name was such a burden.

“Why don’t you allow it?”

“Long story,” I evaded, my panic now rising to the surface.

“We have time.”

“Not now,” I said harsher than I meant to, but I just couldn’t go there yet. Maybe not ever. It was just too much.

Molly sighed in disappointment, but I was thankful when she changed the subject and asked, “What does the tattoo on your ribs say?”

“The greatest accomplishment is not in never falling, but in rising again when you fall. It’s Vince Lombardi.”

“It’s beautiful. This Vince Lombardi philosopher must be good. Why have I never heard of him?” And just like that, she pulled me out of a bad place. Only Molly had ever been able to do that for me… It was addicting.

“What now?” she groaned, clearly over me laughing at every little thing she said wrong.

“He was a football coach. A very famous football coach.”

“Oh. I really need to get up to speed on all things football.”

“I’d like it if you didn’t. You’re not impressed by the hoopla that comes with me playing and I never want you to be either. It’s better if you don’t know in depth what it all means to folks round here.”

“You mean you really don’t want me to call you Bullet?”

“Fuck no.”

“Whatever makes you happy.”

I swear she was going to kill me. “Sleep, Mol, or we’ll end up doing what makes me incredibly f**kin’ happy.”

“One more question, then I’ll sleep.”

Squeezing her tightly, I said, “One more. You’re pushing your luck.”

“Why One Day?”

Memories of getting that tattoo on my hip played through my mind, and finally taking a risk, I told her what I’d never told anyone else. “That I’d leave this place, one day. Be my own person, one day. Do what I want… one day.”

Molly’s hand tightened in mine. “Has it always been so bad for you?”

I couldn’t, I just couldn’t speak about that topic, some weird force within me stealing my voice, so I replied, “That was two questions, Shakespeare. I agreed to one. Now sleep.”

“Romeo? I don’t want everyone to know about us yet. I want to keep our relationship to ourselves,” Molly suddenly blurted when I was halfway to sleep.

Anger zapped through me at an alarming rate, snapping me awake, and I had to move, sitting on the side of the bed. “I get it. You’re embarrassed to be with me. Bullet, the aggressive, whoring QB—not boyfriend material, right? But good for a few f**ks in secret…” I hated the way I was speaking—harsh, malicious—but her saying that made me feel ashamed. She didn’t think I was worthy of being with her in public.

Molly’s warm breath spread on my back and her arms wrapped around my waist. “What? No! I… I’m just nervous!” she said, panicked.

Feeling like a weight had been lifted, I turned, taking her hands, and asked, “Nervous of what?”